


Of Peacetime and Practicalities

by PenguinofProse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Another day trip, Anxiety and Fluff, F/M, Post-Episode AU: s01e13 We Are Grounders Part 2, season one nostalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24133681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Season one nostalgia. Diverges from canon at the end of the battle in 1.13. Clarke and Bellamy grow closer through the stresses of running the camp together.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 29
Kudos: 182





	Of Peacetime and Practicalities

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to a nostalgic trip back to the end of season one! Imagine there are no Mountain Men and the Ark never comes down to Earth. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing this. Happy reading!

What does a leader do when the war is over?

Quite a lot, it turns out. There are wounds to be stitched, for starters, and Clarke is the closest they have to a doctor. Harper helps her out, here and there, but patching people back together keeps her occupied for the first twenty-four hours or so.

Then there are food and water supplies to worry about. She has to admit, Bellamy is pretty helpful on that front. By the time she emerges from her makeshift med bay, up to her elbows in gore and about ready to faint from exhaustion, she discovers that he has cobbled together four kids who are not as injured as the rest and sent them out to catch supper with Miller in the lead.

She could kiss him for that.

She _couldn't_ kiss him, obviously. Not really. Her inhibitions must just be malfunctioning after so long on her feet. But the point is, she's beyond grateful to have Bellamy holding things together while she's stitching wounds.

Next on her list come the bodies. That's a grim chore – not just because these are her friends, her _dead_ friends, and people she felt responsible for and failed to protect. But also because the survivors scarcely have the energy and limbs between them to dig thirty graves just now. Clarke ends up doing a good deal of it herself, in the end, simply because she is in decent shape and wants to get it done. Bellamy mucks in a lot too, and that allows her to pop into med bay every now and then, because she's still worried about Raven. And after a few hours, or a few days, the graves are all finished and they have a ceremony of sorts, standing around and saying a few words about each of the fallen.

She catches a couple of hours sleep, next. Just to keep herself functional enough to do a sound job in med bay. But then she realises she needs to fetch more seaweed, and after that she notices that one of the younger kids has been having nightmares since their tent-mate was killed and spends the day helping the girl move in with another friend.

But Clarke will feel the peace sooner or later, she is sure of it. Or – well – not _sure_ so much as hopeful. Before too long, she'll stop being so busy and get a chance to enjoy a life free from war.

Unless the grounders come back for revenge, of course.

No, this is not the day to think like that. The makeshift funeral was yesterday, and today Jasper and Monty have decided it is time to celebrate their survival, and start a new chapter in the life of the camp.

Clarke is happy for them. She thinks a celebration is a fine idea. And she'll join them just as soon as she's finished sterilising these bandages.

That is her plan, and it's looking good until Jasper dances through the dropship and sends her bucket of bandages and boiling water flying. She jumps back, narrowly missing out on a serious scalding, and reprimands him sharply.

"Watch where you're going, Jasper!"

"Lighten up, Clarke. War is over, didn't anyone tell you?"

"Some of us still have things to do." She gestures at her mess of bandages, resenting the wasted time. She will have to start all over again now.

"What can you possibly have to do? The grounders are gone. Come and have a drink, live a little!"

She doesn't answer. She can't. If she tries to speak now, she will end up yelling at him, and then word of it will get out around the whole camp and that won't do morale any good.

She swallows down her frustration, picks up her bandages and her bucket, and goes to boil more water.

…...

Jasper is annoyed with her, and she's annoyed about that. She put a great deal of effort into _not_ yelling at him last night, so she can't see why he gets to act as the wounded party. He's clearly told half the camp that she snapped at him, based on the cold looks she is getting now. Sterling even walks round the other side of the fire pit to dodge her at one point.

Now she's even more frustrated, and that was the last thing she needed.

She doesn't have _time_ to be frustrated. They've let their patrol schedule lapse, these last few days, presuming that the grounders were gone for good. But Clarke is starting to realise that's a dangerous assumption.

What she means, of course, is that _she_ has let the patrol schedule lapse. Such things are her responsibility as part of leading this camp. She's aware that Bellamy used to organise the patrols, but since she claimed leadership in the approach to that final battle, she wouldn't expect him to busy himself with such things. And she did shut the door on him, so he definitely doesn't owe her any favours.

They still haven't spoken about that. She can't. What does one say, to an enemy-turned-colleague-turned-friend, shortly after condemning them to death in a ring of fire?

Sorry?

Get well soon?

He's doing OK, physically. She knows that from checking him over in med bay along with the others.

But sometimes she wishes she knew what was going on inside his head.

…...

Clarke is looking for Miller, hoping to ask him to lead a patrol, when Bellamy finds her.

"Woah, Princess. Slow down."

She fumes silently, on the point of snapping at him like she snapped at Jasper. Why does no one in this entire goddamn camp understand that she doesn't have _time_ to slow down? Once she's sent this patrol out, she needs to organise a water run. Drinking water doesn't collect itself. And if one more person tells her to -

"Breathe for me." Somehow Bellamy's hands have ended up on her shoulders. "I know you've got a lot on, Clarke, but you're going to hurt yourself if you carry on like this. Why don't you tell me where you're headed and we'll see if I can go instead?"

She frowns, confused. She has seen Bellamy do helpful things before, of course – she has even been on the receiving end of his help – but this feels like something else. Maybe it's just because she's so damn overworked and this is the first time in days that anyone has actually been kind to her. Maybe that's what's making his concern feel disproportionately touching.

She takes a deep breath, like he asked, and explains. "I was going to ask Miller to take a patrol out, but I can't find him anywhere."

"That's because he's already out on patrol. I asked him to fetch water on the way back, too. A couple of the walking wounded are going to take the water barrels down empty to meet them, and then Miller and Sterling and Munroe are fit enough to get them back here."

Clarke gapes at him, confused. "You already sent out a patrol? And a water team?"

"They're the same people, I guess, but yeah." That's what puzzles her most of all. Not only is Bellamy helping her out, but he has actually taken a moment to plan how on Earth they are to efficiently run a camp when almost everyone is too injured to perform any real physical activity.

This is, quite frankly, the best thing that's happened to her all week. And she survived a battle four days ago, so that's saying something.

"Thanks." She says, feeling rather inadequate. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

"I wanted to." He tells her firmly.

She nods, suddenly disorientated. What was the point in marching over here if there's nothing to do now she's arrived?

"Go and take a nap." He recommends, but it sounds like more of an order.

"A nap?"

"Yeah. I figure you have a couple of hours before you have to do anything else."

"Great. A nap." She nods again, and starts to walk away.

"And Clarke? Don't let Jasper get you down. He doesn't understand what it's like to be you right now."

…...

Jasper isn't the only one who doesn't understand, it turns out. Finn pops up at her tent the following morning, brandishing a spear and wearing that smooth smile.

"Want to come hunting with me?" He suggests. She wonders about asking him whether he's lost his mind. The last time they went hunting together they got themselves caught, rather than successfully catching dinner.

"I can't." She says, honest and unadorned by apologies.

"Clarke, if this is about what I said the other day -"

"It's not _about_ anything. I just can't come hunting with you."

"If it's not about anything, why do we never hang out anymore? I've seen you less since the battle than before it, Clarke! You can't be that busy without a war to fight."

"She is." Bellamy appears on the scene, putting Finn in his place with two short syllables.

"What are you doing here?" Finn looks somewhere between scandalised and grief-stricken.

"Running the camp. With Clarke. Go find yourself another hunting partner." He recommends, and stares Finn down until he leaves.

Clarke is annoyed with Bellamy, but not as annoyed as she was with Finn. "You didn't need to do that. I'm not your sister."

He sighs. Clarke thinks he sounds almost as tired as she feels. "I know. But come on, Clarke. He says he cares about you but he doesn't pay enough attention to realise you're worked to the bone? He says he's the god of Earth skills but he's not observant enough to see how much work we have to do round here?"

She laughs. Finn has never actually used the phrase _god of Earth skills_ , to the best of her knowledge, but Bellamy's assessment of the situation is not far off.

She stops laughing, though, because she hasn't the time to be amused. "Why are you here?" He has presumably come to inform her of the latest crisis.

"I wanted to talk. Can I come in?"

She nods, and he comes in and squats politely at the edge of her bedroll while she takes a seat about as far away as is possible in the limited space.

Bellamy frowns a little, then begins. "This is stupid, Clarke. You're exhausted, and I'm not doing much better. And I know we haven't always got on, but I think it's time we put more thought into working together."

She frowns. That doesn't sound like Bellamy – or at least, not like the Bellamy she first knew on the ground. He was no expert in cooperation, and she could swear that _thought_ wasn't really his strong suit, either.

"Where is this coming from?" She asks, suspicious.

"I'm worried about you!" The words burst out of him. "We'd be dead without you, Clarke. We need you. And you can't honestly say you're working at your best while you're all over the place like this."

That's very true. She hates it – she remembers being a medical apprentice, and taking pride in neat, well-ordered work. She doesn't recognise the woman the last five days have forced her to become.

She admits defeat, and decides that if she's going to be shown up in the field of _thinking straight_ by Bellamy Blake, she's at least going to reclaim the lead in this conversation now.

"I don't know what you're doing." She states outright. "You're obviously doing some things – ordering patrols, and some hunting parties? But I've been too busy running between med bay and the rest of the camp to stop and check in with you."

"Exactly." He nods. "We should talk more often so we can split tasks." Talking to him more often doesn't sound like a terrible idea. He's about the only person in this camp she's not overwhelmingly frustrated with just now.

"I should take med bay. You should take defence, hunting, and water."

"You should deal with the day-to-day running of camp." He suggests. "You're better at settling arguments than I am."

That almost sounds like a compliment, but she hasn't the time to dwell on it. "Sounds like a plan. Check in with each other morning and evening?"

He nods and gets up to leave her tent. It's not much of a plan, but it's good enough for now.

…...

Clarke has slept three nights in a row when she decides it's time to add the next thing to her to-do list. And by _slept_ , she means a generous six hours – she's feeling positively refreshed.

With a humourless snort, she remembers the good old days when she used to think nine hours was a refreshing quantity of sleep.

Bellamy arrives right on cue. He normally comes to her tent for their morning catch up, and then she tends to find him by the fire pit each evening.

"What have you got planned for the day?" She asks him, soothed by the routine of their usual exchange of information. Bizarrely, this confirmation of her daily to-do list is about the only time each day when she doesn't feel stressed out.

"I'm sending out two patrols – one south this morning, one north this afternoon. A separate water party if I can get enough people."

"Bree is cleared for duties again." Clarke suggests. "Her shoulder's fine. Water duty should be a good starting point."

He nods. "Great, you?"

"I'm going to look for Lincoln." She says, eyes fixed on her bedroll. She expects he will think it's a stupid idea, but she needs to give it a try.

He surprises her. "Good idea. He's around – O was with him yesterday."

Clarke blinks in shock. "She told you?"

"We're good since he looked after her in the battle." He is trying to look unconcerned, but its not quite working out for him. "He cares about her, that's what counts."

"That's good. You're going to be seeing a lot more of him if this works out."

Bellamy doesn't respond to that. He simply gets to his feet, ready to make a start on his tasks for the day.

He has reached the door of her tent when he turns and throws his parting words over his shoulder. "Take care out there, Princess."

…...

They have been living a life of frantic peace for a week when Finn tries again. He's persistent, Clarke has to give him that.

"Why do you never have time to see me, Clarke?" He asks, over half way to pouting. "The war is over, so why are you on edge all the time?"

She's on edge for so many reasons. She's on edge because she's pretty sure the war _isn't_ over, but just paused. Lincoln has been helpful, and she's hoping they might get to negotiate a real truce with his people sooner or later. She's on edge because running a camp even without a war is one hell of an undertaking. She's on edge, at least in part, because people keep asking her _why she's on edge._

But most of all, she's on edge because she no longer remembers how _not_ to be on edge.

Only with Bellamy does she sometimes feel calmer. She's not sure whether that's who he is – something about that calm confidence he seems to exude – or whether it's because he's the only other person who knows how it feels to be in her shoes.

She seeks Bellamy out, that night. She's been feeling frazzled all day since Finn approached her, which is stupid. She ought to be worrying about medical supplies, not about a boy she once slept with. But whatever it is she's worrying about, the worry burns just the same. And so she's hoping that Bellamy might help her to feel calmer.

They don't normally seek each other out beyond their duties running the camp. But they're getting on pretty well, now, when they chat about patrols, so Clarke doesn't see the harm in giving it a try.

"You doing alright, Princess?" Bellamy greets her with that cocky grin and shuffles along the log he is sitting on.

She's not sure whether to answer that question politely or honestly. She thinks about it while she takes a seat. She looks into his eyes for a while, hoping for an answer to her indecision, but that turns out to be a mistake. His eyes are big and brown, and creased just a little with concern, and it has her heartbeat racing for reasons that have nothing to do with anxiety.

She shakes her head, and settles on honesty. "I've been better. I swear I will end up slapping the next kid who tells me to _lighten up and enjoy the peace_."

He gives a startled laugh at her uncharacteristic outburst. "Best not do that. You'd be the one to have to stitch their face back together again."

"I'd plan it for a time when your sister was on duty."

"Big mistake. She'd make a mess of it, and a fight would break out, and then you'd end up dealing with that too."

She sighs. "I won't slap anyone. I know it won't help. I just – it sucks, you know? I thought that if we weren't fighting everything would be OK. But we are still fighting. We're just fighting a different war."

"Have some boar." He says, and hands her a chunk of meat on a stick. As responses go, forcing food into her hand might not be the most obvious follow-up to her rant. But it's the response she wants, she decides easily. It's a helping hand when she needs it most.

"Thanks. It looks like a good catch today."

"Yeah, Sterling did a good job."

They lapse into comfortable silence, chewing on their meal. Clarke can't remember the last time she found a silence _comfortable_ rather than tense.

Maybe she should eat supper with Bellamy more often.

…...

She does eat supper with him more often, in the days that follow. What starts as an occasional change fast becomes an everyday habit, to the point that the place on the log by his side is considered hers by the other occupants of the camp.

She likes that, she decides. It's more pleasant to have that seat essentially reserved for her use than to see an assortment of girls surround him and drape themselves over his lap. That doesn't seem to be happening very much these days, and she is glad of it. He's better to talk to when he's not trying to impress an admirer.

He's late, tonight. She has passed out supper to the kids, and she's been sitting in her place for quite a while. He didn't say he was going to be out of camp after dark, and she's getting worried.

"Do you know where he is?" She cracks and asks Miller at last.

"Who? Bellamy?" She fixes him with a glare. Of course she means Bellamy. Who else could she mean? "No idea. He said he was going out, didn't say where. He said he'd be back by nightfall."

In that case, Clarke decides, she has sat here quite long enough. The grounders are still out there, for all that Lincoln says they are not keen to attack after the ring of fire. She tells Miller to take care of the camp, and then she hops to her feet and strides towards the gate. She stops off on the way to pick up a rifle, and debates taking a friend along just in case things go south. But she's not sure who she would take – Raven still can't walk, and she doesn't have a great track record as far as wandering round forests with Finn goes.

She'd take Bellamy, of course, if he were here. That's the problem. That's exactly why she needs so urgently to go and look for him.

Luck is on her side for once, as she bumps into him only just beyond the gate.

"Bellamy! Thank God." She pulls him into an urgent hug. She supposes that later she will find herself wondering why she felt the need to hug him, but right now she's just enjoying the feeling of him in her arms, warm and solid and alive.

"I'm OK." He reassures her, hugging her back after a moment's hesitation. "I'm sorry I'm so late back."

"You're back now, that's what counts." She decides as she pulls away. "Come on in and have some venison. I didn't want to eat without you."

…...

Things almost settle into a rhythm, as the days stretch out to weeks. As rhythms go, it's a pretty frantic one, all pounding drums and pulsing heartbeats, but at least Clarke is starting to feel that she knows which way is up. And when she finds herself overworked, she seeks out Bellamy, and between the two of them they always manage to make a plan.

Sometimes it's not really a plan that she needs from him, if she's being honest. She's better at making plans than he is anyway. Quite often she just needs to find him so she can calm down enough to get on with thinking things through, so that she can be reassured that she's not alone in all this.

He's the only person who understands. That has become overwhelmingly clear as time passes by. She tries explaining it to Monty, at one point, and Monty is a good sort so he stops telling her to lighten up after that, but he doesn't truly get it. She can see the incomprehension in his eyes.

"Princess." Bellamy's greeting breaks into her train of thought as he takes a seat at her side, the two of them perched on their log as usual.

"Hey. How's it going?"

"Not bad. I think I'm done for the day."

"Yeah, me too."

He frowns in the direction of the setting sun. "It's not dark yet, and we're both out of urgent problems to deal with? That must be a record."

She gives a startled laugh. "You're going to hate me for this, but I thought of another thing we should do."

"Yeah?"

"We should set up some kind of school. The younger ones never finished their Earth Skills courses on the Ark. And the older ones could share their skills – we need to train more doctors, and Monty is really the only one who knows plants."

She expects him to be annoyed with her. She remembers him being annoyed a lot, in the early days, when she would tell him something that he knew was true but didn't want to hear.

She is guilty of underestimating him yet again, it seems. His eyes are filled with respect as he turns to give her his full attention. "That's a great idea, Clarke. And that's why you're the leader we need."

"I couldn't do this without you." She rushes to assure him.

"I know. Neither of us could do this without each other."

…...

Lessons start within days. Monty and Raven teach maths and basic engineering, and it is good that Raven has something she feels useful doing while she still cannot walk. Jasper and Monty talk about plants, but Clarke encourages Jasper not to talk too much about the kinds of plants he specialises in. Miller gives them a range of unexpected and useful tips on self-defence, stalking prey and general sneakiness. Clarke gives everyone in the camp a brief course on basic first aid, and asks half a dozen of those who pick it up quickly to join her for a more detailed medical education.

As for Bellamy, he teaches history. Of course he does. They might be living from hand to mouth in a war zone, but he is determined that their people should know the stories of where they come from.

Clarke can't bear to argue with him. He's been so helpful, these last few weeks, and if this will make him happy then that's good enough for her. And yes, maybe, she might think he has a point. There's a tiny little part of her brain that feels that way, a tiny part of her brain that isn't entirely obsessed with solving the problems of survival, that same tiny part that had her jumping into bed with Finn or comforting Bellamy after Dax attacked. That thinks maybe their people need to remember what it is to feel human, rather than only having enough food and water to keep them alive.

She's starting to remember that feeling human might be a goal worth aiming for, one of these days. Maybe that's the next thing she should add to her to-do list.

For now, though, it is time to eat supper with Bellamy.

"How was your lesson?" She asks, handing him his evening meal.

"Is lesson the right word? I told a story about Alexander the Great. I think they enjoyed it." They did enjoy it. Clarke knows this, because it is all the kids have been able to talk about all afternoon.

"I heard it was good." She offers nonchalantly. She and Bellamy may prop each other up when it comes to practicalities, but they don't go around trying to inflate each other's self esteem.

"You could come and listen for yourself sometime." He suggests.

"I never have time."

He nods, understanding. "I knew you'd say that. If ever you have a minute, it'd be great to see you there."

…...

She joins his history class two days later. It's stupid, because she doesn't have a minute – she has thirty seconds at most. She's walking between med bay and the makeshift kitchen they've been setting up, and she decides to just pause and loiter at the edge of the group listening to his latest story.

She doesn't stay thirty seconds, in the end. No, she stays thirty _minutes_ , and she ought to be ashamed of that, but when she eventually tears herself away the camp hasn't burnt down, so she decides she got away with it.

"What did you think?" He asks, that night, jaw tight as he waits for her opinion.

"Honestly? You were right to insist on it. It's good for morale, and maybe it will remind the kids to be the good guys."

His face falls a little, but he nods as he reaches out for some food. "I'm happy to hear you think it's useful."

She gets it, then. He didn't want to know what she thought of the curriculum. He wanted to know what she thought of _him_. It's such a revelation that it has her choking suddenly on nothing, and letting out a couple of panicked coughs while he slaps her back good-naturedly. She should have seen this coming, she realises. They've been spending so much time together, it should have been obvious that sooner or later they were going to go and become _friends_. And what do friends do, if not give credit where credit's due?

"You did a good job. I can see why your lessons are so popular. You really made it come alive."

He brightens at that, turns to look at her with a smirk. "Alive, huh? A story about an adventure to the Underworld and I made it come _alive_?"

"Words are your thing." She waves a dismissive hand.

They are still smiling at her unintentional pun by the time they finish eating. Normally Clarke would disappear at this point, off to do one last round of med bay or check in with the younger kids before bed. But med bay is empty, since Raven moved back to Finn's tent, and Harper has adopted the habit of looking in on the youngsters.

So she stays. She stops having supper with Bellamy, and starts spending the evening with Bellamy. Because that's a thing friends sometimes do.

…...

She goes to his lessons whenever she can, after that. And it turns out that she can go quite often, now that the camp is starting to run itself. They have managed to start delegating some of their duties to other people, and it makes for a rather easier life.

Clarke's still on edge, though. And that's almost worse – she has fewer productive tasks to distract her from her anxiety, and she goes to bed before she is actually dead on her feet, but then lies there, worrying, in the darkness.

That's partly why she always goes to listen to Bellamy's stories. Sometimes they are taken from history, sometimes literature or mythology. Without fail, they always manage to help her relax. It's an hour or so, most days, when she does nothing but sit and listen to her friend speak.

He's got a nice voice, she decides early on, and that doesn't hurt his case either.

"It's amazing, what we've done here." He says, one night, as they sit by the fire pit together. "It's at the point where they've learnt how to run the everyday things themselves, you know? No one runs to us first off any more. They try to fix it themselves before they get us involved."

Clarke has noticed the same phenomenon. "You know your sister dealt with a laceration that needed stitches the other day without me? She sterilised it and stitched it up, and didn't tell me except to say it was all done."

"You taught her well."

"You're the one who raised her to have that attitude." Clarke turns the praise right back at him.

He lets it go, accepts the compliment with a nod and offers her another portion of boar. The hunters are bringing in more food, these days, and some of the scrawnier kids are starting to look slightly healthier. She shakes her head and gestures to him to eat it himself. He's been gradually losing weight since they got to the ground. He's still strongly built, but he's beginning to look lean, and she doesn't like the way he always takes as little food as possible.

On this occasion, she gets her way and he eats the leftovers himself. They keep up a lighthearted conversation while he does – a list of potential topics for his next few lessons, her suggestion that Stirling should be put in charge of cooking more often. And when he has finished chewing and started dusting his hands down on his thighs, he surprises her with a most unexpected topic.

"We should get out of here."

"What?" She doesn't understand what he's suggesting. Is he tempted to run, again? She thought he was doing better, these days.

"You and me. Let's take a day and have a break from this place. We've just said it – they can run the everyday things without us now."

It's a lovely idea, but she cannot help but feel that it has no place in this life they're living. "What would we do?"

He gives a laugh. "Such a _Clarke_ question. Can't just go out and have fun, can we Princess? I don't know. Let's go find another supply depot and get us some more guns."

She doesn't understand what this is about. Is this about some kind of twisted nostalgia for that first day trip they took together? Is he on the point of breaking under the weight of his responsibilities and desperate for a day away from it all?

She takes a careful breath and has a go at asking him. "Where is this coming from, Bellamy?"

"It's like I said a couple of weeks ago. We need you, and we need you to be at your best. And I don't know about you, but I'm tired of being here getting stressed out every day. Let's go away and get some space, just for a day." Well, now. When he puts it like that, it does make a lot of sense.

"OK."

"OK?" She can hear excitement blooming in his voice.

"Yeah. When are we going?"

"Why not tomorrow?" Of course, he is Bellamy, and acting on impulse is basically his favourite occupation.

"Tomorrow is good for me."

"Great. It's a date."

…...

It feels like a big day. Clarke knows that is stupid, because it's only two people walking round a forest together. But it's the first time both of them have been out of camp together since that misadventure with Dax and the supply depot, and it's the first time she's been further than the nearest river since Bellamy was hanged.

It's not only the logistics that make it feel like a big day, though. She knows that Bellamy was taking the piss last night when he said _it's a date_ – or at least, she thinks he was. But somehow this really does feel like a date, as the two of them smile a lot and make conversation about very little. In fact, it's better than any date she remembers going on, back on the Ark. It's better because she already knows Bellamy, his silly habit of resorting to humour at inopportune moments, his fierce loyalty and protectiveness. And it's better because she has to admit that searching for bunkers and supply depots is a hell of a lot more entertaining than the supposedly romantic movie Riley took her to see that one time.

They don't find a bunker, or a supply depot. But they do find the buried ruins of a house.

"I want to look inside." Bellamy decides, punching through the remains of a window as if breaking and entering centuries-old homes is all in a day's work.

"You're exhausting." She complains without heat. "What's the sense in looking inside? We don't need to look inside and it might be dangerous."

He's not listening. He's already half way through the window, his jacket strategically placed over the lower edge so he doesn't cut himself on the stray shards of broken glass.

She heaves a sigh and keeps arguing. She hasn't had a good argument with him in a while, and she misses them. When they were at each other's throats all the time she's pretty sure she used to spend less time staring at his face and noticing pathetic things about how cute his freckles are.

"You're wasting your time." She shouts through the broken window, even though she can no longer see him in the darkness inside the building. "This looks like a family home. There won't be anything here to help us survive. They won't have guns."

"Are you still going?" His disembodied voice calls back to her. She can hear that he's on the edge of laughter. "Carry on, Princess. Tell me what else I'm doing wrong."

She admits defeat, then, and pulls a glow stick from her pack. If he's going to be an idiot, he might as well be an idiot with company. He's conveniently left his jacket so she can slip through the window without cutting herself, and it isn't a very big drop to the floor on the other side.

He's not in this room, she realises with disappointment as she holds up her glow stick to cast light into every corner. Nothing much is in this room, in fact – a bit of basic furniture that might be useful at camp if they can be bothered to carry it, but little else of interest.

She makes her way down the corridor. She's relieved to see a glow coming from the next room – Bellamy may be infuriating, but at least he has enough sense to take a light into a dark building.

"Clarke?" He calls, and sure enough, his voice is coming from the room with the light.

"Yeah?" She steps closer, eases the door open.

He's holding something in his hands, but she can't make it out yet. "Still think coming in here was a waste of time?" He asks, offering it to her.

It's a sketchbook. She can see it now, dusty and curled at the edges, but a sketchbook nonetheless.

"You just found this?" She asks, excitement warring with disbelief. She doesn't get good news like this, she's pretty certain.

"Yeah. And a couple more, and pencils." He points at the desk. "Go crazy. Here, put whatever you want in my pack."

He's holding his bag out to her, but she doesn't take it. "I can't, Bellamy. I haven't got time to draw."

He frowns at her, but if she had to guess she'd say he looks more concerned than angry. "That's not true any more, Clarke. If you've got time to come break into a house full of sketchbooks with me, we can definitely make time for you to do some drawing."

He said _we_ , and she can't make sense of that. How is this his problem?

"I can't."

"You can. Come on, Clarke. I know you haven't got time to do loads of drawing. But we'll make you time to do a little bit, please? I'll take over the latrine schedule, or something."

"You'd take on the latrine schedule so I can _draw_?"

"Yes." He says, a single syllable, jaw clenched as if daring her to disagree with him.

That's when she realises it. He stops being her friend, in that moment – or rather, he becomes so much _more_ than that. She doesn't know what she's done, to deserve this. How has it come to pass, that there is a person in her life who cares about her happiness so much he's willing to take charge of _latrines_ for her?

It's time for her to return the favour, she decides.

"OK." She takes the pack, and starts filling in with drawing supplies. "But these people must own books. We're not leaving until we find a couple of books for you to take back to camp."

He gives her a long, considering look.

And then, at last, he nods.

…...

It's late by the time they approach camp, the sun sinking to the horizon. Finding a couple of books turned into Bellamy spending ages agonising over which to choose, which in turn led to Clarke making the executive decision that she was carrying home all five of the books he couldn't decide between.

It feels even more like a date on the way home. Maybe that has something to do with Clarke's revelation that her feelings for him have transcended friendship, or maybe it has something to do with the ghost of his warm hand on her waist where he lifted her up so she could climb back through the window.

Perhaps it is only the way he keeps looking at her, with a smile in his eyes.

There's a fallen tree, about ten minutes from home. It's not a problem – Clarke climbed over it perfectly well on the way out this morning, and she's very prepared to do the same now.

Only that's not how it turns out. Bellamy half lifts her over it, taking her weight in those infuriatingly strong arms of his, and by the time they've navigated the hazard somehow he still seems to be holding her hand.

That's when she gets her first inkling that it might feel like a date to him as well. That she's not some delusional admirer like the girls who used to cluster around him at the fire, but that he might actually be feeling the shift in their friendship, too.

She doesn't ask him. He'll explain himself in his own time, and until then she intends to keep hold of his hand and enjoy the last remnants of their date.

Camp is in sight, now, and she decides that she had better say something to thank him for having this idea.

"Thanks for suggesting this, Bellamy. I've had a good time with you today."

"Me too." He says, as he stops walking. She is forced to halt, too – or at least, she has a choice between stopping with him or letting go of his hand, and she knows which option she prefers.

She turns to look at him. He's looking back at her, but not at her eyes. In fact, she's pretty certain he's looking at her lips.

 _Screw it_ , she decides impatiently. They haven't got time to stand around staring at each other all evening, not if they're going to run a camp together and still find time to read and sketch. There is _never_ time, on the ground, to procrastinate over showing someone how you feel.

She kisses him. She stands on her tiptoes, and curls a hand about the back of his neck, and kisses him. And he responds eagerly, tilting her chin back with a gentle finger to seek a better angle, wrapping his other arm about her waist.

This is what she wants to do with her time, now that the war is over.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
